They Hear We Got Swagger
by Inthefire
Summary: Natasha is incredible, and Steve is hunky, but Tony always goes back to Pepper. Even after wild drunken Avengers nights.


A very drunk Tony Stark tosses back what he had promised Steve to be his last shot. (It's always Steve that complains he can't get drunk, but Tony thinks the rest of them have it worse. He watches his friend nursing a Heineken and decides he just has never tried hard enough. Steve can try again tomorrow, and dammit, Tony will not let him fail.)

He toys with his shot glass (_his_ shot glass, mind you; he didn't have his face engraved on a full set for nothing) and contemplates trying to sneak another shot. The bottle is only three feet away, tucked right on the inner edge of the bar, and Steve is looking the other way. "Fuck it," he murmurs. Another shot is not going to kill him. He inches forward until his fingers graze the bottle, and then extend them, trying to grab the tequila. But instead of hauling the liquor towards him, he unwittingly pushes it off the bar and it topples to the floor. Steve turns around in time to see Tony's Not Guilty pose and, shaking his head, quickly returns to his conversation with Bruce.

Natasha, fallen bottle in hand, slides into the stool beside him. "There's a reason Pepper always told me to only buy you plastic," she says.

"That started after she accused me of bowling with vodka as the pins."

Natasha raises one eyebrow and lifts the bottle. She unscrews it, pours herself a shot and inquisitively points the neck at Tony. He nods, and she pours for him. "Are you saying you weren't—" the eyebrow goes up again, "bowling with vodka?"

He shakes the hair out of his eyes and straightens. The attempt to look professional is laughable; his hair falls right back into his eyes, his speech is slightly slurred with alcohol and his shirt is almost torn to pieces. (Tony had grabbed the last bottle of Macallan scotch, Thor's favorite, from the demigod's side and downed it as he watched.) "I was testing the strength of glass for a new screen."

"With a bowling ball."

"I needed something heavy." He watches Natasha, her eyebrow still impassively raised. "Is Pepper keeping you on my case? I told her that I don't need a babysitter."

"Are you sure about that?" Steve, standing across from Tony asks. He reaches over Tony's arm and picks up the still untouched shot, then downs it and ducks under the bar. Tony frowns, but doesn't bother to fight for a new one.

"Do you enjoy being a fun-sucker?" he asks. Steve is still under the bar and Tony can hear the bottles and cans knocking together. "Do you _enjoy_ being a fun-sucker?" he repeats, this time louder.

"I heard you." Steve comes up, two glasses in hand, and pours them each a ginger ale. "Not usually," he replies. "But for you, yes."

Tony is quiet for a moment, then says, "I think I inspire that in a lot of people."

Steve laughs and slaps Tony on the back. "I think you're right, buddy." He leaves Tony to go back to talking with Banner, who is now tossing back a variety of different colored shots. "Taste the rainbow!" Tony calls, but not loud enough for Bruce to hear. He looks for Natasha, but she's also gone and is laughing with Clint.

Tony sips his soda, which really does taste rather good for something without alcohol, and looks for someone to bother. Thor is spinning his hammer in a corner by himself, but Tony is still mad that he ruined his fourth favorite band t-shirt. (If Tony were sober he would worry that Thor would ruin his floor, but now he doesn't much care.) He instead turns back to watching Natasha and Clint.

Three minutes later, Tony is still watching Natasha, his eyes appraising every part of her body. He wants to reach over and grab her shoulder, spin her around and pull her in, and… He shakes his head. Kissing her would be a good start.

Part of him says forget it, why bother messing around with the Black Widow, but he can't shake his desire off. She's stunning, that's obvious, but Tony gets a lot of stunning girls. And then he has a really _brilliant_ idea that he just can't resist. "Hey! Let's play spin the bottle!"

For some reason that he can't remember (wow, he must be drunker than he thought) he finds himself flat on the ground. He sits up and looks around. Thor, on his left, is grinning eagerly, and Steve, on his right, is inspecting his nails. Clint and Bruce are opposite him and both looking rather nervous. Still standing is Natasha, and she's sporting her Are You Fucking Serious face that she reserves for ridiculous villains (like the Toilet Paper Terror) and really, _really_ drunk Avengers nights. But nevertheless she sits in the circle with the rest of them.

"Who shall spin first?" Thor asks.

"Me!" Tony yells, and reaches for the bottle. He tries to spin it, but it immediately flies across the circle and into Thor's lap. "You kiss me?" Thor asks. Tony takes the bottle back and goes to try again, explaining "Bad spin."

This time the bottle stays in the middle, albeit spinning wobbly, and it eventually stops to point at Steve. Tony expects Steve to make some excuse ("I'm still dealing with Peggy" is his usual) but he just leans in.

The kiss is nice, Very Nice, and Steve is really going at it. Tony reaches around to squeeze his ass, which he also finds is Very Nice. Realizing that this is turning into something of a show, Tony lets go and draws away. And, oh god, he wants another, but he can't because the Avengers are all Just Friends and because "no homo". (It's what he says when he pulls back, that little Stark smirk on his face, but inside he's repeating it over and over and over again.)

The game doesn't last long, only two more spins, before the guys realize that they are not, in fact, all going to get the chance to make out with Natasha. Once they've quit, Tony stands. "Does anyone else want another drink?" he asks and takes two steps towards the bar before finding himself lying on a couch.

His vision is a little hazy and his memory rather blank. Standing above him is Steve, and he sees Clint at the end of the couch. "What happened?" he asks and Clint snickers.

"She hit you over the head," he says, pointing beyond the sofa, where Natasha must have been standing, "After you wanted to play spin the bottle."

"Oh," Tony says, rubbing his face, "Right."

"You were out for the night after that," Steve says and hands Tony a Gatorade. He accepts it gratefully and tries to crack it open but his muscles are weak from sleeping and okay, maybe he's still drunk. Steve takes it back and opens it for him.

"Stop it," Tony mutters, looking around to see if one of his many pairs of sunglasses are around.

Amused, Steve asks, "Stop what?"

Tony grunts, his hand under the couch still looking for sunglasses. "Looking so spritely. I can't stand you right now." He grasps what feels like a lens and pulls it out. They're not his sunglasses, but an old pair of Pepper's, misplaced years ago. He puts them on, despite them having a few pink rhinestones, because fuck, his eyes hurt.

"Headache?" Steve asks. Tony wants to throw the Gatorade bottle at him, but he knows he should drink it. And he does, taking a long draught, even though it doesn't have any vodka in it, which is what he truly wants.

Tony is glad he recognizes the couch he's lying on, because he doesn't want to ask where he is and risk more ridicule. The couch, low and black leather with these wonderful spindly legs that Pepper loves, is situated in one of the top floors of Stark Tower near his favorite bar in the building (there are seven).

"Any dreams?" Clint asks. He's still grinning and Tony scoffs at him. He doesn't know why Tony Stark waking up with a hangover is funny. It happens far too often.

"I don't remember any," Tony says by default, because he never does, but there's some coming back. Steve was there, and so were the rest of the Avengers, and they were playing some sort of game. Nothing else comes, and he waves it off. Dreams aren't worth remembering.

"All right," he says, waving his hands at Steve and Clint, "Let me up. I'm fine."

He looked around the room, and upon finding it empty he pouted. "Where's Natasha?" he asks.

"She went downstairs to the kitchen," Clint says. "She's drinking you out of orange juice. She finished the carton up here and is looking for more."

"What kitchen?" Clint shrugs. "JARVIS!"

"Miss Romanov is on the seventieth floor. The blue kitchen, sir." Tony nods and heads towards the elevator. It's a short ride, only eleven floors, and soon he's standing in the doorway. Natasha sits at the island, her chair tilted slightly back, and she nods to acknowledge his appearance. "Nice sunglasses," she says, sarcasm thick on her tongue.

"So," he says as he heads to the refrigerator, blue because Pepper likes the ocean, and fishes for another Gatorade. He finds a purple one, grimaces because it's his least favorite, but takes it anyway. "You did a number on me last night," he says. He rubs the back of his head again, feeling the prominent lump.

Natasha smiles, just a bit. "Sorry."

He cocks his head to the left. "That can not have been the worst thing you've heard me say."

"No," she says, still smiling, "But it was bad enough."

"I could have cuts all over my head from the glass," he argues.

She releases what just might have been a giggle. "I only buy plastic, remember?" She waits for Tony's response, but when he only nods, she continues, "Pepper's looking for you. Bruce told her what you were up to last night on his way out."

"Well," he says and begins to back away, "I should probably go find her before she has a fit."

Natasha nods. "I hope you don't mind if I drink all your orange juice."

Tony, still backing away, says, "I think that's impossible? We have enough orange juice to satisfy a Hulk." Reaching the door, he gives a quick wave and disappears into the hallway. "JARVIS?" he calls.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where's Pepper?"

"My cameras tell me she is in your workshop."

Tony rides the elevator back up, and sure enough Pepper is standing in his personal lab. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Are those my sunglasses?" she asks and pulls them off his face.

"Ow, yes. They were under the couch."

"Which couch?" she asks, but then waves him off. "God, I've been looking for these forever." She looks up. "Oh, and I want my bracelet back. Where is it?"

"Sorry, still working on it."

"I don't want _weapons_ in my jewelry!" she cries and steps towards him. "God, Tony, do you meddle everywhere?"

"Better safe than sorry, hmm?" he picks up some machinery and fiddles with a wire. "Don't you always tell me that whenever we have to fill out some unnecessary lawyer's paperwork?"

She huffs and reaches out to touch the crown of his head. "I heard what happened last night."

"Tell me, what happened last night?"

She drops her hand and inclines her head. "You were stupid, as always. Did you at least have fun?"

Tony inhales sharply. "I don't exactly remember. But nothing's broken. That's a good sign, right?"

"You," she says, touching her cheek, then his, "Are a piece of work."

"Work is good," he argues. "It keeps me rich. Hey, where are you going?" Pepper was walking towards the hallway

"Some of us actually have to do work," she replies. "And please, try not to let your friends break anything they haven't already. I've had enough of renovation."

"No promises," Tony says. "Thor has a mean swing. Last night, we were playing mini golf, I think—"

"Oh god," Pepper replies, "I don't want to know." She slides open the door. "I'll be in my office. We have more paperwork" Tony groans, "more paperwork that the patent lawyer wants by tomorrow. I'll have JARVIS call you."

"Fun-sucker!" he calls, and she shakes her head as she closes the door.

His smile dropping as she walks away, he faces the workbench. Now, to find another pair of sunglasses…

"Looking for these, sir?" JARVIS asks, and Tony turns to see a robot holding a pair of sunglasses.

"Jesus, you're a life saver. Remind me not to turn you into parts," he says as he puts the glasses on.

"Noted, sir."

"And will you clear Pepper's schedule tonight? I don't think I should be allowed to have all the fun."

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